Scritture Casuale
by Demi-goddess
Summary: Select drabbles that didn't quite fit into "Need You". Random, rough and alright - Federico/Vieri, Ezio/Leonardo, various
1. Chapter 1

Demi: This is what occurs when I can't actually _write_, but I can write. I can get half-thought, half-arsed random pieces of cac onto a piece of paper, but decent shite? No siree. But instead of letting these stew in my hard drive, I've decided to let them see light of day (or, computer screen, really); these are a select few, the best of the shit. The rest... I don't think you're gonna ever see. I may delete them.

Basically, each scene stands on its own. The timeline is irrelevant, unless stated. They may not make sense, but... sod it CB It's unbeta-ed, because I wanted to give _sweetedge_ a break, and I want these to stay rough.

* * *

**1) Perception**

Vieri lay back on the bed, body sinking into the sumptuous cushions as he let out a sigh of contentment. His body buzzed in a muted way, mind fuzzy and hazy. He quite liked this state, not drunk, but certainly not sober. He was comfortably lazing in the middle ground; some would call him 'tipsy' or 'merry'—yeah, he liked 'merry', he was merry. Not a bad place to be really, particularly when he was nestled in a beautifully comfy bed, warm and- oh, where were the covers going?

"You cannot possibly sleep in all that," a voice murmured. Ah, Federico, that was right, he though as he let a smile laze across his face. "Let me help you."

"Mm," he hummed, half in approval of the idea, half in acknowledgement. Federico pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were taking advantage of my state."

"You don't know any better—you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk, _idiota_," Vieri muttered, brow creasing as that fuzzy feeling started to leave, being replaced with agitation. He could feel Federico stripping him, but couldn't find the energy to look or do anything about it. "You must be a fool of an assassin if you cannot tell the difference between drunk and... happy."

"You're happy, eh?" Federico commented, grinning.

"Quite... and I blame you..."

He felt Federico falter in his disrobing, but quickly resumed. Soon, Vieri was fully exposed to the chilly night air that drifted through the open window; he shivered and rolled onto his side, curling in on himself and biting back a moan. Warmth, though, was thrown over him in the forms of the covers and Federico's body, as his arms enveloped him, front pressing against his back.

"I know you were talking about being tipsy and the fact I supplied the wine, but... can I pretend, just for tonight, that when you said you were happy, you... _weren't_ talking about drink?"

Vieri rolled over in his arms and buried his face in Federico's warm neck, slurring a, "Whatever... now let me fuckin' sleep..."

* * *

**2) Notes on a Scandal**

Leonardo was, without a doubt, a sufferer of chronic procrastination. The man could put things off for days and months, up until the night before its due date; sometimes, things _never_ got accomplished. But there were some times when Ezio would drop into his workshop and find the man busily working on something that wasn't expected for a long while or wasn't even expected. Usually this occurred after the artist was granted a large boost of inspiration, one which he would take advantage of; if he didn't, things would never, _ever_ get done. At all.

This was one of those times.

The artist was bent over a canvas—not in the good way, Ezio noted sulkily—and working swiftly on a landscape picture, using various sketches from his many notebooks to help him. The assassin was, in the meantime, attempting to pass the time by wandering around the cluttered workshop, trying not to disturb anything. Whilst it was messy, it was truly organised mess; Leonardo could find a desired object in a mere heartbeat. The only time he couldn't find something in the piles of mess was when he was flustered or panicking, something Ezio couldn't help but find truly adorable.

His leather-covered fingers skimmed over a cream-coloured notebook and suddenly, he felt insanely curious about its contents. With one quick look over his shoulder, he flicked the cover open.

'_The moon is dense; anything dense is heavy: what is the nature of the moon?'_

Ezio's eyebrows rose in silent admiration. He snuck another look over his shoulder at the busy man, lips quirking upwards. Such a clever man, he thought idly; a genius.

'_Describe how the clouds are formed and how they dissolve, and what causes vapour to rise from the waters of the earth into the air, and the causes of mists, and of the air becoming thickened, and why it appears more or less blue at different times...Describe the tongue of the woodpecker... Describe what sneezing is, what yawning is, the falling sickness, spasms, paralysis, shivering with cold, sweating, fatigue, hunger, sleep, thirst, lust...'_

Yet another glance over his shoulder at Leonardo. Ezio shook his head. Not only was Leonardo a genius, but he was a relentlessly curious man, and the assassin knew that such curiosity would never disappear. Leonardo was constantly searching for answers to questions never asked.

Ezio continued to flick through the worn, ink-stained pages, eyes sweeping over half-finished sketches and poems, diagrams and explanations; it was like looking into Leonardo's mind. It was all jumbled and disjointed, everything stop-start and random—nothing had order in this notebook. But that was Leonardo. He had a charming child-like quality to his personality, something that never failed to bring a smile to his face upon thinking about it.

'_Describe,'_ another note read, '_what makes lust grip a man, sometimes to the point where he is more animal than man, how the mind can win the battle against the body when it comes to carnal desires, how-_'

"Ezio, are you reading one of my books?" Leonardo asked from across the workshop.

"Of course not," Ezio mumbled back, distracted by a single scrawled sentence at the bottom of the page:

'_Describe what arouses Ezio Auditore_.'

A grin stretched scarred lips. "Ey, _amore mio_, I think I can answer one of the questions in your book."

"So you were reading! Ezio Audi-"

Leonardo did not complain for much longer, it would seem.

* * *

**3) Morning Glory**

Vieri de'Pazzi was not someone you wanted to wake up. Coming round from unconsciousness on his own, he was perfectly fine. Being roused unwillingly from slumber... well, that set Vieri up for the day – a very unpleasant day.

Federico, the _bastardo_, usually woke him up, when he was around, in a variety of fashions; some nice—teasing kisses and nuzzling to his neck or, say, having his cock sucked—whilst some methods were _not so nice_—once he was woken up rather quickly when Federico sunk his teeth into his behind. Even when he was brought round by the 'nice' methods—waking up to find Federico's head between his legs was _great_ way to start the day—Vieri still grumpy when he was dragged from his sleep. He was not a late riser, since he did have duties to fulfil, but he was certainly a later riser than Federico; the damned assassin was awake long before the crowing cockerel even got his act together.

But this particular morning, he blearily opened his eyes of his own accord, ears slowly tuning into the sounds of the city outside his ever-open window. Stretching a little, he looked over to the other side of the bed, taking in the sight of Federico's tanned and toned back; the man was still asleep, despite the fact it had to be the middle of the morning—the noise level outside indicated that first mass had ended. It was completely unheard of for Federico to sleep in.

He nudged the younger male. "For the first time, I'm waking _you_ up."

Federico mumbled something.

"What?"

The other cleared his throat before saying, voice hoarse, "Congratulations."

"Urgh..." Vieri screwed his face up. "You sound horrible."

Federico said nothing; Vieri frowned.

"That was your chance to tease me or something."

"I know," the assassin whispered.

The older male leant over and pressed the back of his hand to the other's forehead. He wasn't feverish, thank God. He didn't need a feverish Federico; the last time that had happened it was a pure disaster.

"Well, you're not hot," Vieri muttered. There was a moment of silence where he waited for the witty retort, but it never came. "Jesus Christ," he snapped, throwing his side of the covers off and grabbing a pair of breeches and a shirt. "Grow some balls, you're not seriously ill. You're not going to die."

"I feel like shit," Federico rasped.

"You look like it. All the time, I hasten to add."

"_Mio caro..._"

Vieri huffed. Secretly, he was pleased at hearing that whinging moan. It meant he was not feeling _too_ bad; he was obviously well enough to use those pet names Vieri hated. Plus he had that damn tilt on his lips that always meant a smirk was on its way.

"What exactly is wrong with you?"

Federico raised his head slightly from the pillow and rolled onto his back. "Throat," he rasped. "Head hurts... I just need to sleep it off."

"Like hell," Vieri hissed, pulling his tunic on and opening the door. "You sleep for longer than strictly necessary and your brother will think I've killed you."

"Where are you going?"

"To send for a doctor, _idiota_."

"Kiss goodbye?"

Vieri sent him a harsh glare.

"You won't get ill," Federico murmured. He spread his arms, beckoning. "I promise. You've slept in the same bed as me the whole night and you're not ill. A kiss from you will make me feel better."

The older male huffed and, despite his better judgement, walked back over to the bed, perching on the edge and leaning towards Federico.

"If I get ill, you will regret it, _stronzo_," he mumbled, before pressing his lips against Federico's.

The assassin groaned and immediately wrapped his arms around Vieri, who shivered. He tried to pull back, yet found he couldn't; not only was Federico holding him tightly, but the kiss was...nice. It was very nice. Slow and tender, for once not spoiled by an infuriating smirk from the younger male. The angle was awkward, however neither cared, mouths slipping against one another and tongues rubbing lazily. Vieri let a sigh escape, fingers tangled in Federico's thick hair, knowing he _really_ shouldn't be kissing the other when he was ill, but he really couldn't care less at that point in time; although, his brow creased with a scowl when he felt one of Federico's hands crawl up his side, under the tunic and shirt, and went to grab his wrist to pull it away, but didn't get there fast enough to stop himself from letting out a startled moan when a thumb swept over his nipple.

He pulled away, Federico's wrist gripped tightly in his hand. Rolling his eyes, he muttered a "_Stronzo" _at the other's pleading gaze.

"If I was you, I'd get rid of that-" He pointed to the slight tent in the covers. "-Before the _dottore_ gets here."

"You're not going to help?" Federico asked. At Vieri's blank stare, he slumped back against the pillows. "So harsh... This is such a shit morning."

"I think that every morning I'm woken up by you." Vieri once again opened the door. "I'll be back soon. Don't die in the mean time."

"I'll be thinking of you," Federico softly cooed, waggling his fingers.

Vieri snorted and slammed the door behind him. Damn him.

* * *

**4) Method in the Madness**

Usually, when Ezio knocked on Leonardo's door, it was either open or answered very swiftly. Sometimes, however, this was not the case, and Ezio was left standing on the artist's doorstep, hidden by the shadow of the porch as his mind whizzed over the possibilities of _where_ the artist could be. At first, Ezio's stomach had churned with worry; maybe the guards had been alerted to the presence of the assassins or, God forbid, the Templars had found out.

But now, he knew better. With a grin, he quickly joined a small crowd of people—so he wouldn't be seen leaving the workshop—and followed them around the building until he could dart into a nearby alleyway; there, he climbed up the side of the building and up onto the rooftops, where he made his way back over to the artist's home. There was a window open—_merda_, why did he always leave a window open?—through which he climbed through.

Leonardo was, as he first suspected, asleep. Ezio let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. As he stripped off his armour—setting it down quietly on surfaces with a quiet _clink_, so not to disturb Leonardo—his ears picked up on the soft, slow breathing of the artist, as well as the slight bit of movement he made when Ezio knelt on the bed.

Grey eyes blinked open, blearily focusing on the simply-dressed assassin settling next to him. Leonardo smiled faintly and allowed Ezio to tug him close, happily breathing in spicy mix of cologne and sweat as their legs tangled together.

"You interrupted my nap," Leonardo mumbled.

Ezio pressed a kiss to his brow. "Then we'll just have to make up for it."

The assassin knew he would never fully understand Leonardo's little quirks, but the ones like these—dozing regularly during the day, even after siesta—he was happy to participate in and encourage. Leonardo had once told him that the mind was just as important as the body, and so required a break from the stresses of the day every so often; Ezio had laughed it off at first, waving it off as another one of the artist's crazy notions—like his dislike of eating animals—but after spending time with Leonardo, he realised there was always method in his madness.

Besides, it was even more foolish refusing to spend time with Leonardo in bed...

* * *

**5) Lessons in...**

Leonardo was furious. There was no other way of saying it.

They'd been looking for the boat to Venice; a simple task, really. In technicality, Leonardo was the one looking for the right boat—Ezio was in the town, finding them _suitable_ lodgings. Or he was meant to be. Because Leonardo had just seen a large brown horse gallop past with a white-robed man on top who looked _suspiciously_ like Ezio...

After speaking to a few women, who were complaining of such dangerous antics, he found out that a few others had recently rode past, using the same path as Ezio had; it was a race, apparently. And they nicely directed him to the finish line, where he found the assassin.

And a woman.

Of course.

"And for breaking the record, I'll give you those _riding lessons_ you deserve," she all but purred.

Leonardo was about to leave, feeling extremely nauseous and quite rightly hurt, when he noticed how Ezio took a step back, only to be dragged closer towards her when she grabbed a hold of his collar. He reacted too quickly for even himself, striding forward; Ezio caught the movement in the corner of his eye and turned, expression made up of pure relief.

"Leonardo, _amico mio_," he called. He gently pried the woman's fingers off of his robes. "I was looking for you."

"Clearly," the artist replied evenly. "I found our boat, it leaves tomorrow. Have you found a room for us?"

"_Si_."

"Ah, then your fun and games are excused."

The woman let loose a small laugh, and stepped closer to Ezio. "Then that means you'll let him have more fun and games? Maybe you'd like to join in?"

"Ah, _mi dispiace_, but I must decline," Leonardo replied as politely as he could, smile strained.

"No matter. We will have fun anyway," the girl said with another laugh that grated on Leonardo's nerves. "I'm sure you are a fast learner when it comes to riding, _signore_."

"Ah, _si_, he was a natural when I taught him," the artist quipped. He pointedly stared at the girl, internally smiling when she faltered.

"I was not talking of-"

"_Signora_," Ezio cut in smoothly, taking her hand from his robes once again. "I'm afraid I must also decline."

"Oh? But why, _maestro? _I'm sure you will enjoy-"

Leonardo huffed; he'd finally had enough. "We are busy, and you are an unpaid whore. Now if you would be so kind as to leave us alone?"

The girl gawped and spluttered indignantly, staring up at Ezio for help, but he was staring intently at Leonardo, eyes full of pure amusement and lips twisted in a smirk beneath the shadow of his hood. After a moment or two, she turned and stomped off.

"Do you know," Ezio murmured, stepping closer to Leonardo, "how much I love you?"

"Sometimes." Leonardo flashed him a supposedly innocent smile. "Now, to our lodgings? I'm tired."

"Ah, but I was hoping you would give me a riding lesson, seeing as you scared my other teacher off."

If they weren't in public, Leonardo would have kissed that devious smirk off the assassin's face there and then.

* * *

**6) Musn't Grumble**

If there was one thing Vieri hated about Federico being in his room—if one ignored that cursed teasing—it was how the younger male would leave a mound of armour on the table near the window. The amount of protection that covered that man's body was ridiculous; Vieri sometimes wondered how he managed to carry it all, and still run across rooftops and whatever else he did apart from annoy Vieri.

Then he realised, when Federico continued to disrobe, _how_ the assassin managed to do such a feat: the man had the body of a Greek god. Toned muscles rippled beneath a golden canvas of skin—Federico just oozed power. And sex.

Which is why Vieri never actually complained about Federico taking his clothes off in his presence.

* * *

Demi:

**1) **I actually wrote this in the state I have come to title as "merry". It's the state which many call tipsy, but I call it thus because I'm usually very happy when in this state. I'm very aware of my actions and I can control them, but if I'm left on a soft surface of any kind, I will start to feel very sleepy and probably start snoozing, cuddling anything within range. I gave Vieri this trait, since drunk-Vieri seems very adorable in my mind CB

**2) **The notes Ezio reads are all true - Leonardo did write them in his notebooks. Apart from the last one, about turning Ezio on, because if that had really been in a notebook, it would be very weird... (but not unwelcomed o3o )

**3) **Again, I used my own personal experiences to write this thing. I've been quite ill this past week with the shittest cold ever, and I decided to make Federico suffer too. Only, I don't have a Vieri to look after me. Fuck.

**4) **Again, this is fact! Leonardo da Vinci would take regular naps during the day. On average, if you totted up how much he slept and napped, he slept for half his life (estimated). He believed that the brain needed to rest as much as the body did. And it must have had some affect on his smarts, because he's a genius, and Einstein did the same - napped during the day, fifteen minutes per every four hours he worked - and look at him! God I love Stephen Fry and Qi for giving me useless information.

**5)** I don't know why, but I got really annoyed at Amelia and Ezio during that bit. Ezio, she was clearly a little slut, and a bad flirt at that. I was waiting for Leonardo to interrupt them, like he did with Rosa, but NO... BI

**6) **My favourite random o3o


	2. Prompt: Nightmare

Demi: These can be found on my Tumblr, but I decided to post a few here. I may upload anymore drabbles I do - not many people follow my Tumblelog haha. So these are unedited and very rough.

Takes place during 'Need You', around the time of the trial.  
Unedited  
Word Prompt: Nightmare  
Prompted by: Anon  
Worksafe? Yes

* * *

He sat on the side of the bed, his back facing Vieri's slumbering form. Bracing his lower arms on his knees, he sat rigid for a moment or two, attempting to breathe deeply, his eyes clenched shut. His hands shook, so he clasped them together. His mind raced, trying to piece together the nightmare, but he could remember nothing, only that he couldn't breathe. His throat and the skin on his neck burned fiercely; his chest and lungs also smouldered, making his breaths sharp and awkward.

Behind him, Vieri stirred, eyes blinking open. His first coherent thought was that it was still night; it was dark, but the moon shone brightly through the large doors and windows; it bathed the room in silver light, bright enough for him to see Federico at the other side of the bed, hunched over, as if in pain.

Now fully awake, he sat up, eyes trailing over the masses of dark bruises, crusted scabs and red welts, clearly made by a whip and hot poker. He clenched his jaw and shifted closer to the younger male, who seemed to be oblivious to Vieri's consciousness. The Pazzi male leaned forward, hand outstretched, to shake him out of this obvious stupor, which, he later realised, was not such a good idea.

As soon as Federico felt the first brush of fingertips on his back, he reacted, turning and grabbing a tight hold of the wrist. He froze when he realised it was Vieri.

"M'sorry," he mumbled, letting go and turning away again.

Vieri said nothing; he didn't even move. His wrist throbbed a little from Federico's hold. After several seconds of utter silence, Federico let out a shaky sigh.

"Nightmare," the assassin whispered. "It's nothing."

"Like hell," Vieri snapped. He reached forward again and grabbed Federico's shoulder, forcing him to face him. "Don't fucking tell me it's nothing. You're a wreck. You're shaking and you can't even look me in the eye."

Federico finally did and Vieri felt the breath catch in his chest at the emotions shining in his eyes and etched in the lines of the younger male's face: worry, sadness, exhaustion—it was all there. Then, Federico looked away, rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm, still shaking.

"I should be dead."

Vieri's eyes lit up with a fierce glare. "I didn't risk my neck for you to come up with that decision, you-"

"No, I know. It's just my mind—my mind is telling me I should be dead." The assassin took both of Vieri's hands in his and placed them on his neck, across the burning flesh where the rope had cut into his skin; the other flinched when he felt the roughness beneath his palms. "I can still feel it: how much it hurt, how my lungs burnt and screamed for air, what my last thoughts were, how helpless I felt...My mind keeps telling me I should be dead, that I shouldn't be here." He paused, closing his eyes. "With you."

"You shouldn't be here with me, that's the point," Vieri muttered.

Federico choked out a laugh, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Still gripping Vieri's hands in his own, he took in deep, slow breaths; he was trying to calm his body, which was shaking with adrenaline and trembling nerves. His grip on Vieri's hands anchored him to reality. But if he concentrated, he could catch sounds, smells, and varying scraps of images within his mind from the night terror, and he swore to God that he could hear Petruccio shout his name, his voice trembling with tears-

"Stop it," Vieri snapped. He ripped his hands from Federico's grip. "It was a nightmare, it is all in the past and you are alive. _Capito_? Now get back to sleep."

With that said, Vieri shifted away to his side of the bed and tugged the covers up to his shoulders. Federico hesitated before he, too, lay back down. Silence filled the room. He knew he wasn't going to get to sleep anytime soon, not with the emotions still fluttering about his body and the fears still cemented in his mind. But nonetheless, he lay there, attempting to relax by concentrating the slight bit of warmth he could feel radiating from Vieri.

He wasn't expecting to hear the rustle of sheets as Vieri shifted and feel the mattress dip behind him. His brow creased in confusion as Vieri pressed himself against his back, but relaxed as arms, hesitantly, wrapped around his waist. He gripped the hands in his own, squeezing the slighter fingers. Nothing was said—nothing _needed_ to be said—and Federico was fine with that.

He'd tease Vieri later.


	3. Prompts: Flowerpot, Skin, Memories

Demi: Another set of word prompts that are on my Tumblr.

Prompted by: Anon(s)  
Worksafe? Yes'm  
Unedited

* * *

FLOWERPOT

"Ezio, careful!"

"What? W—?"

He landed badly on the balcony, his descent lacking the grace he would later develop. In his struggle to regain his balance, his foot knocked against a flowerpot, which wasn't connected firmly to the stone below and so plummeted to the ground. Ezio feared he was going to follow; however, a hand grabbed his wrist and tugged him forward. They heard the crash of pottery smashing and despite the fact that they had been awaiting such a sound, they both winced.

What they weren't expecting was the chorus of angry bellows and clinking of armour.

"Hey, Ezio? You know how I said I would teach you how to deal with angry guards?"

Ezio nodded.

"Lesson starts now. _Run_."

* * *

SKIN

He had not been waiting long, but the apprehension made it seem like a lifetime.

Usually, it was Ezio who waited for Leonardo; the Assassin would sit patiently, watching the movement of life go by as he awaited Leonardo's hesitant arrival. But this time was strangely different. Leonardo had drawn the hand on a bench by the river Tiber and lingered in the area, perusing various stalls and even stopping to sketch interesting people who walked by, but still, Ezio didn't appear.

Leonardo was worried—Ezio _always_ turned up and he had a reason to this time, seeing as the artist had fulfilled the request for the climbing glove. And so he sat on the bench by the water, idly watching the people on the bridge nearby and listening to the water lap against the stone below. His hands twitched and he had to force his heart to calm before he sent himself into a panic.

Suddenly, there were footsteps to the side of him, the sound of well-heeled boots against stone. The feet stopped and Leonardo resisted the urge to inhale sharply as his nerves reappeared with the energy of an angered hive of bees; was it Ezio, or another? From the approach, the person had the familiar gait of Ezio's walk, but the weight of the boots were all wrong. Had Cesare become suspicious of him and sent a guard to escort him? Was it merely an innocent simply choosing the wrong place to wander? Or, if it was Ezio, why had he not sat down? Why was he late?

Leonardo dared not look up.

The mystery-person cleared his throat, and moved closer. "We are both busy men, _amico mio_," the man murmured; Leonardo's gaze shot up to stare straight into golden brown eyes, his own wide in utter shock. "It would be good if you would snap out of your daze."

The artist almost didn't recognise him, but as soon as he did, a wave of déjà-vu, bordering on nostalgia, hit him forcefully. Standing slowly, he walked towards Ezio, hand shakily reaching out to trail paint-spattered fingers against the freshly-shaved canvas of the younger male's jaw; the skin was smooth, just as smooth as it had been all those years ago. It felt like a lifetime ago since he had seen Ezio like this, touched skin like this.

"Strange, isn't it?" Ezio murmured, scarred lips quirking upwards and gold eyes glinting. "I confused the other Assassins—even La Volpe hesitated."

"I'm sure the clothes threw them off, as well," Leonardo replied softly, hands leaving Ezio's face and brushing flat against the dark fabric of the short tunic; they were not the same clothes as Ezio used to wear—even if Ezio kept them, they would not fit him now—but they were very similar. "You look... young again. Apart from here."

His fingers once again had returned to the Assassin's face, pads skimming around smiling eyes.

"You have more wrinkles than I, Leonardo," Ezio quipped playfully, eyebrow quirking.

"I did not mean wrinkles, Ezio," the artist murmured with a chuckle. "I meant your eyes." A wave of emotion crashed upon him. "They don't shine as they did when we first met."

"I don't think many eyes shine like they used to. Time and experience do that to a person, and it has been thirty years, nearly." Ezio paused. "Do you like it?"

Leonardo smiled up at him. "I don't like how old you're making me feel—" They shared a laugh. "But... yes. I like it. It's strange and different, but..."

"But...?"

"I think..." A wicked smile curved Leonardo's lips and Ezio found himself mimicking the smirk. "I'll prefer you with these off."

Ezio was not going to refuse; there was no sensation quite like skin on skin.

* * *

MEMORIES

It had been just over twenty five years since their murders. Three hundred months. One-thousand three-hundred and four weeks. Nine-thousand one-hundred and thirty-one days.

But all those days hadn't soothed the wounds left; every day was a battle for him.

When he returned to Florence, having spent two years in Monteriggioni and San Gimignano, seeing his old home sent unpleasant shock waves through his body. As he crossed the rooftops, he would sometimes imagine seeing Federico running with him, laughing and goading him faster, setting stupid forfeits for the loser to do and the prize for the winner. Lorenzo, whenever they met, would look at him with pity, and that in itself hurt; this was the man who cared for his father and who had been in Ezio's life for some time, even though _Il Magnifico_ was only a few years older than his big brother had been.

And when he returned to his uncle's town, it hurt to be around his now-mute mother and angry sister. Furthermore, whenever he stumbled across feathers on the rooftops of whatever city or town he was in, his heart broke at the memory of his beautiful, innocent little brother, Petruccio; the last thing he had done for the younger one was collect a few feathers that Petruccio had seen from his bedroom window, before telling him to get back to bed. He didn't deserve to be killed.

Every enemy he encountered seemed to taunt him with their deaths, remind him of their 'failures'. He tried not to react rashly as the words washed over him and a red mist threatened to descend over his eyes. Templar deaths didn't make him feel any better, but he hoped that he was appeasing _them_, wherever they were, if they were even watching him. He felt they were, and during Savonarola's reign he thought he saw his family, even his sister and mother, stood in the Auditore _palazzo_'s courtyard, looking at him with bright, reassuring smiles splitting their lips, their faces full of pride. He'd stumbled away from that hallucination and went to Leonardo's workshop, even though the artist was not there. Letting go, he let himself cry for the first time in years, falling into a tumultuous sleep; when he awoke, he felt nothing but determination to avenge his father and brothers. Savonarola may not have been a Templar, but his beliefs were the same and he held the Apple, the only thing that would help him against Rodrigo Borgia.

Years later, as he fought for the liberation of _Roma_, he knew he still hadn't healed, even though Rodrigo—the man behind the conspiracy against the Assassins, against his family—had been defeated. Fashions had not changed drastically since before his Assassin days started, and as such, the clothing he saw stirred memories. Some of the older men wore doublets and robes not dissimilar to Giovanni's, and sometimes Ezio found himself unconsciously following a man dressed comparably to how his brother used to. As soon as he realised, he would flee, usually seeking out Leonardo or going back to _Isola Tiberina_ and locking himself in his quarters.

Some days he wished he could erase these memories of his family; he quickly realised, though, that he wanted to remember—he needed them.

* * *

Demi: If you want to submit a word prompt, go to my Tumblelog ( demi-goddess(dot)tumblr(dot)com or search "Halflings Tumblr" in Google) and submit the word and pairing in my ask box =] They're getting me back into the swing of writing.


	4. Bath, Balance, Gondola, Fire

Demi: More Tumblr-collections~ :3 These are all worksafe prompts.

* * *

**BATH**

With a contented sigh, Vieri rested his aching back against the cool marble bath and slid down further into the hot water 'til it lapped across his shoulders. This was what he needed. After an entire day of horse-riding and the stresses of a cross-country race, he was completely exhausted and tender beyond belief and so a near-scalding bath, followed by a long night's sleep, was much appreciated.

The sudden appearance of Federico, however, was not.

"I'm trying to relax," Vieri muttered as he heard the window click shut. He kept his eyes shut, blocking out the Assassin.

"I can help."

"No you can't." He huffed when he felt fingers card through his hair, refusing to admit—even to himself—that it was nice. Slowly opening his eyes, he jerked back in surprise at seeing Federico's grinning face in front of his, albeit upside down, as the bastard leaned over him. "I'm tired. I don't have the energy for your shit."

Federico's grin softened to a smile and he leant forward to press their lips together. It was a little bit awkward and a very strange experience, yet Vieri found himself letting go and sinking into the kiss, dripping fingers leaving the water to weave through brown locks and trail across the stubble-dusted jaw.

The younger male pulled back. "Sit up."

"Why?" Vieri grouched with a scowl.

"Just trust me."

With a belly-deep sigh, Vieri did as told; he really didn't have the energy to argue or fight back against Federico. He didn't expect to hear Federico kneel behind him and to feel rough hands begin to knead and squeeze the space where neck and shoulders met, and so had to mentally catch himself before he sunk straight back into the water. Federico kept massaging his shoulders, hands sometimes skimming down his arms and thumbs digging into the soft flesh of his neck. Dear God that felt good, though a little painful, as tense muscles were pressed and pinched, however he couldn't complain about such pains, seeing as they were his own fault. And Vieri didn't object, either, as Federico bent over again, running his lips across Vieri's throat and then his chin as the elder male tipped his head back. Their lips joined once again and Federico's hands started to drift down Vieri's chest instead, fingers stroking skin gently soothingly. But when Federico's hands dipped lower—

A cut-off groan rumbled out of Vieri's throat. "What part of 'trying to relax' did you not understand?" he mumbled against Federico's lips.

"I am relaxing you," Federico whispered back. He pressed their lips together. "If you're not in the mood—"

"Right now, I'm in the mood for relaxing. If you want to stay here, you'd better make yourself useful: stoke the fire, tidy up my riding clothes, stay out of my way and read a book, whichever. The minute I get out of this bath, _then_, you can continue...rubbing."

A sly grin spread Federico's lips; Vieri shared the same look, yet with more mischief.

"But, until then—" Vieri waved Federico away with a flick of his wrist. "I'm in the bath, therefore I'm relaxing. Until I leave this bath...you're on your own."

"Vier_i..._"

* * *

**BALANCE**

He inhaled deeply, resisting the urge to open his eyes. No, opening his eyes was a bad idea. With his eyes closed, he could pretend that he was elsewhere, could forget that he wasn't standing on a rickety wooden ledge overlooking Florence. Hands were firmly placed on his hips, securing him in place, but the wind blew through his hair and the gaps in his clothes, attempting to upset his balance.

"Relax," Federico murmured in his ear.

"How can I relax, you piece of—?"

"Easy now, easy," the younger male continued, as if speaking to a young colt. "I'm here."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" Vieri replied dryly.

Federico chuckled. "Just open your eyes and look. The whole point of being this high is the view."

"There is no point to being all the way up here," Vieri snapped. "How the hell did I let you bring me up here?"

"A moment of insanity?"

"I seem to be having them a lot around you."

"So it seems." Federico chuckled, wrapping one arm around his waist as he rubbed his other hand up and down Vieri's side. "I'm not going to let go of you, and you're not going to fall. Trust me?"

Vieri didn't say a thing.

"The key is balance—"

"Really? Never would have guessed!"

"Vieri," Federico huffed. "Please. I'm trying to guide you through a leap of faith."

"A leap...?" Brown eyes suddenly snapped open and he turned to face Federico. "No way in _Hell_ are we leaping from here."

"Good thing we're not in Hell, then, isn't it?"

"You are not clever and you are _not_ funny. Now, you are going to get me down from his building."

"That's what I'm trying to—"

"_No_, not that way! _Another way_. A safer way. The view is nice, I get that—"

He was cut off as Federico pressed their lips together, hands clenching in his tunic at his hips. His eyes slipped shut as their mouths shifted against each other, leaning further against Federico's taller frame. Pulling back, the Auditore smiled gently down at the other male.

"I promise that you'll be okay. Trust me? This leap will be the best jump you've ever taken, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. It's an amazing feeling, please just trust me."

Vieri paused.

"So... you said something about balance?" the Pazzi mumbled, turning in strong arms and earning a chuckle from the younger male.

"_Si_. Balance is... everything."

* * *

**GONDOLA**

Vieri huffed harshly, deep brown eyes scanning the expanse of water as his nose wrinkled from the stench.

"I don't like Venice."

"But they have boats here!"

Vieri sent him a levelled stare. "Federico, I am not four. I am not so amused by the concept of floating things in water like you are."

"You are when it comes to bodies."

"Exactly. Unless the _Doge_ has redesigned the gondolas and had them remade from corpses, I am not interested in the boats and therefore—I still hate Venice." He paused. "Besides, those tiny boats are so fragile and rickety. There is no way in Hell that I'm going in one of them. You could look at one of them and it would sink."

"You don't like water, do you?"

"It's about not liking water. I would just prefer not to get wet or die."

"But you don't mind getting wet, though," Federico purred in his ear.

"You're an ass."

"And you have a nice one."

"Get out of my face."

* * *

**FIRE**

Vieri was a cold person by nature; he wasn't particularly noted as the warmest of people. Scathing remarks, prickly sarcasm and sharp insults ghosted over his lips with what seemed like every breath he took and gave. The Pazzi _family_—if one could call it thus—was not a nurturing clan; members were born, quickly grew up, bred (if they lived enough) and died, simple as.

He also didn't like the heat. Living in _Italia_, one found it hard to escape the warmth, but Vieri sought shade like a saviour; he preferred the coolness, particularly that of night, when it was tepid with a cool breeze that drifted over him in gentle waves. His aversion to the heat of day made his skin the colour unlike those around him, particularly that of Federico; he appeared to have come from more northern lands when his skin was compared to the other man's.

There was one heat, however, that Vieri didn't mind. Of course, the fire of arousal was more than welcomed—in decent circumstances—but the real heat, the real fire was in Federico's touch.

From the teasing brushes of fingertips across his arms, to the firm grips on his hips, or the swipe of a palm across his back, they all set his body alight with sensation. No one had ever made him feel this way, not a single soul. And yet, Federico came along and with mere innocent touches—with not so innocent intentions—his body buzzed alive with fire and fervour. Damn him.

* * *

**FIRE (2)**

The night was a calm one, with little breeze and no clouds to cover the starry sky. What breeze there was brushed against the curtains, making them flutter and sway as if they were under water; it also trailed across the bare skin of the two males lying entwined on the bed, dancing lazily and caressing in a ghostly touch. Fingers seemed to trace the paths of the breeze, barely touching the broad canvas of skin covering the smaller male's back before dipping into ink-black hair, combing through the jet locks, which were slightly damp from a recent bath. The fingers scratched scalp and a low hum of contentment broke the silence; it was followed by a quiet chuckle and the rustle of sheets as the other arm shifted to pull them even closer together.

Vieri couldn't remember being held like this. Ever.

There was no fire of arousal, no afterglow. Neither was there a reason to be held like this—Federico, as far as he knew, was not leaving Florence any time soon, nor was he embarking on some kind of mission for his Brotherhood, and Vieri was just the same. Yet, here they were, merely lying together, basking in warmth.

His mind was nearly blank, for once. Surely, one would think, with the level of silence and lack of movement, that his mind would be a blur of musings, deliberation, and reflection, but all that flowed through his mind was how nice Federico's touch was, and that if the bastard even thought of stopping...

But then he did. One warm palm pressed flat against his spine as the other rested against the small of his back, and Vieri found himself lying just as still as before. Despite the fact that the soothing touches had stopped, and that all he was doing was lying in Federico's embrace, wide-awake; he was _content_. And he knew Federico was just as content, as not only was his breathing regular and deep, but merely down to the fact that he wasn't moving. Federico was _always_ moving—always in motion, fidgeting, constantly distracted by the tiniest thing, especially if it was far away; even in slumber, he rarely lay still. Damn restless sleeper.

However, as comfortable as he was at that point in time, lying in a half-dosing state in his lover's arms, he could feel an uneasiness waxing. Federico was radiating heat like a blacksmith's forge; the younger male was not just hot-blooded in nature, it seemed. Vieri had always felt that Federico's touch was like fire, but he thought that it was him over-reacting. Why had he never noticed? Oh right, that was because he never simply lay with Federico, unless it was after sex, and Vieri had always put the heat down to the exertion and actual physicality of it all. No, Federico was just a hot man, it seemed.

In the literal sense, of course.

Cursing, Vieri wriggled out of Federico's grip, and rolled over. Federico made a sound in the back of his throat that was half whimper, half groan, and grabbed hold of him again, pulling their bodies together again. Vieri, again, writhed away, sighing as he settled in a cool patch of sheets and as the breeze grazed across his skin; yet, again, Federico and his damn heat reappeared, but Vieri slapped his hands away.

"No, you're like a furnace," Vieri grouched.

He could _feel_ the pouty stare that Federico was sending his way; he didn't even need to roll back over and look. Federico shifted forward to hug him again, but Vieri moved even further away, huffing and cursing the younger male under his breath. Silence filled the room quickly, and Vieri thought Federico had finally given up, when-

"Can I at least hold your hand?"

Vieri paused and, after a moment or two deliberating, rolled over and slipped his hand into Federico's, their fingers lacing together.

Federico smiled brightly. "I just want to be near you."

Vieri was about to argue. He was about to point out that they _were _near, if being on the same bed could be classed as near, but the peaceful yet bright expression on Federico's face made his snarky remarks die in his throat. Instead, he settled for rolling his eyes, before closing them and huffing. Even though his palm was starting to sweat, he guessed he could allow Federico this. And himself.

But the Assassin wouldn't know that.


	5. Prompt: Calm

Demi: Another Tumblr word-prompting, this one is not worksafe ;)

* * *

**CALM**

Vieri let out a deep sigh, inhaling quickly in a short, stunted breath. Forehead creasing as brows knitted together, he pushed back against Federico, who continued to roll his hips gently into Vieri's behind. Pleasure buzzed through his body but in a muted way; usually it was sharp, explosive and burning, but this time...it was calm, it was tender and Vieri was more intent on _feeling_ than climbing to climax.

Federico's pace was steady, his body shifting fluidly and in a ceaseless motion, rocking their forms together tenderly, despite the growing urge to simply hoist Vieri up onto all-fours and fuck him so hard the mattress would split and the bed would dent the wall. But no, he held himself back, eyes fixed on Vieri's face, as the elder male pressed the side of his face into the pillow, face contorted in rapt ecstasy and fists clenched in the material of the sheets. One of those hands suddenly relinquished its death hold on the fabric and, in a sharp jerky motion, latched onto Federico's; their fingers locked together, and if Vieri felt any pain from the pressure on his fingers from the younger male's weight, he didn't show it. If anything, he seemed to descend further into his own pleasure, breathy moans tumbling from kiss-bitten lips and body trembling with sensory overload.

He had never seen Vieri like this, never so...so sensual and...the only way Federico could explain it was _cat-like_; as their hips rocked together, the older male's spine curved to push back against Federico and fingers clawed at the mattress beside his head. However, as his gaze focused on that hand, wrapped in the sheets, he idly realised that Vieri was always like this. His body was always so sensitive, hands always gripping—usually skin—and body twisting in absolute pleasure; it was just that Vieri was held down by Federico's weight, as the both of them lost their minds to sharp, burning ecstasy. Never had he _truly_ taken the time to admire Vieri as they...fucked, made love—whatever it was to be called.

"S-Slow..."

Federico snapped out of his almost-dreamlike trance. "Hm, _caro_?"

"Too slow," Vieri murmured, eye cracking open. Lifting his hips a little and grinding back against Federico, he smirked at the low grunt, not missing how brown eyes flashed gold for a heartbeat. "Fuck me."

Federico chuckled deeply, leaning down and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to a sweat-slick shoulder-blade. "_Calmate_, _tesoro_... Calm."


End file.
